


the thirty first

by midnight_files



Category: NCT (Band), NCT Dream
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_files/pseuds/midnight_files
Summary: scrapbooks and movies tell stories for them.





	the thirty first

**Author's Note:**

> brief a/n: i do write about wounds with a little detail in certain parts. it's not very graphic nor gruesome but i put the TW there to be safe! 
> 
> [TW] and [End of TW] are both in bold so you can ctrl+f search for those keywords to avoid those small parts!
> 
> it will not hinder your understanding of the story :) <3

The start of the consistent rivalry between night and day dates back centuries. As big as the world may be, sharing was hard to do when both sides lusted for complete control over the other; and so arose predatory desires and the banishment of creatures of the night who were bound to the shadows forever.

Violence emerged as early as the medieval times when King Louis XIV, self-proclaimed Sun King, had ordered an elite group of knights from his round table to eradicate the witches and vampires that lurked in France. The slaughter of families that followed caused an uproar worldwide and other states followed the steps that France took until sorcerers and ‘beasts’ were silenced. 

Now, in modern times, people hardly believed in their existence anymore. Though there were attacks every now and then by angered witches or bloodthirsty vampires, many would dismiss these events as exaggerations by the media, profiting off fear from folklore. However, truth was never one to be censored.

  
  
  


The sun burns Renjun’s scalp as he makes his way around the playground, trying to find something to occupy himself with while his parents bicker about what to have for dinner. It’s nearly autumn and yet the heat is as intense as it was midsummer, causing Renjun to roll up his sleeves in irritation. He’s five years old now and that’s a _ lot _ bigger than four, so the kiddie swings were no longer enough to suffice him. Finding his way to where the older kids were loitering, he politely stands next to the pole closest to where a dark-haired boy was seated. He wants to ask for a turn, this part of the park being the only thing he really cares about, but stops himself when he realizes that nobody for miles was speaking Chinese. They had moved to Korea last week after Renjun’s mother had gotten a job offer that came with an undeniable salary and Renjun didn’t know the first thing about speaking Korean. 

However, perhaps it was his unwavering gaze on the rusty chains of the swings or the way he was fiddling with his fingers, eager for his own turn, but the boy stands up and gestures towards the plastic seat. 

“You… want?” His voice is a bit lower than Renjun’s, but still high enough for Renjun to discern that the boy was around his age. Thankfully, Renjun was diligent with his English studies, even for someone as young as he is, and understands what the other was getting at. 

“Yea,” he replies shyly, taking a step forward and sitting on the swings. He then glances down, biting on his lower lip in disappointment when he realizes his feet won’t touch the ground. He extends his legs a little bit, but nearly falls off the seat. He’s about ready to give up when he hears the boy speak up from the side, where he’s waiting for Renjun to finish his turn. 

“Want me to push you?” He asks, to which Renjun gives him a bewildered gaze. The breeze causes Renjun’s bangs to prick his eyes and he moves a hand to rearrange his fringe, losing sight of the male he was talking to. He’s about to turn his head when the swing he’s seated on suddenly jolts and he lets out a squeal, hands finding their way to the metal chains. 

“You okay?” The question aimed at him comes after a chuckle and Renjun barely manages to nod before the other gives him an experimental push, catching him when he returns back to the original position. A giggle evades him and he turns his body, momentarily letting go of the chains to move his index fingers in circular motions around one another, signalling that he wants the boy to do that again. 

They spend their afternoon taking turns pushing each other on the swings, even though the unnamed boy is tall enough to reach the ground, because Renjun insists with whines that he wants to return the favor and so the taller male lets him. 

“My name is Mark, by the way.”

  
  
  


The whispers of the leaves find their way downwards, biting away diligently at Renjun’s nose until it’s a cherry red. The heaters are broken, again, in the first floor of his school and Renjun scolds himself mentally for having left his scarf in his cubby. It’s their first band meeting since auditions and Renjun finds himself struggling to open the case of his violin when someone bumps against their shoulder a little roughly. He jolts up, ready to aim a glare at whomever that was, but meets oddly familiar hazel irises. It takes him a few seconds to recall where he’s seen this face before but then the stranger breaks into a goofy smile and Renjun’s lips form a small ‘o’ in realization.

“Hi, Mark,” he says in Korean, taking pride in the way the other boy is surprised. “Renjun! What instrument are you playing?” To this, Renjun’s ego diminishes a little because he struggles to understand Mark, but the other simply points at the case in Renjun’s hands.

“Ah. Violin,” Renjun replies, gesturing with his hands because he’s unsure if he’s said the right word. Mark nods once and then gives him a thumbs up before returning to his seat on the other side of the room when the director asks the band to settle down.

  


During lunch time, Renjun pulls out some of the work he’s already been assigned, trying to make sense of the questions. The cafeteria reeks of mystery meat and soggy vegetables, neither of which smell appetizing to Renjun, who finds it even harder than usual to focus on his work. The frown etched on his forehead threatens to leave permanent creases and Renjun clutches his short locks in his fists, tugging frustratedly.

“You need help?” comes a familiar voice from behind him. Renjun whips his head around so fast, he nearly strains a muscle. “I did that last year.”

Mark’s a year older, Renjun notes, as the boy sits down beside him and slides the homework closer until it rests between them. Pointing at the first question, Mark begins translating words into simplified English, “What Yunhee does after school.”

Renjun eagerly picks up his pencil and starts to write his answer when Mark laughs quietly and points at the paper again, “Hee not Heo.”

  


The foliage Renjun sees on his way home cycles through a variety of colors before the branches hang bare and frost collects on the ground, covering the graveyard of plants. Mark sees all of this with him, somewhat making it an unspoken responsibility of his to walk the younger home. Sometimes—or rather, most of the times—Mark stays over at Renjun’s house for a few hours and Renjun feels guilty, but appreciative, of how diligently the boy tutors him in Korean, even going so far as to making notes on bright pink post-its with new vocabulary for Renjun to learn.

However, knowing how to say things like ‘delicious’ and ‘handsome’ didn’t really help with mathematics. So when Renjun receives a few points short of perfection on his multiplication quiz, he turns the gloomiest he’s ever been. For the whole day, Renjun refuses to talk to anyone, hoodie pulled over his head and eyes cast down on his shoes. Mark makes several attempts to start a conversation while they’re packing up after band practice, but Renjun replies with minimal effort, only offering polite hums. 

The tension between them seems to thicken on the way home, when nobody else is around them. Halfway down the block that Renjun’s house is on, he nearly slips on the icy sidewalk, eliciting a laugh from both him and his company. This eases up the nerves that both of them had been harboring and they push one another, cheeks rosy and stiff as fog leaves their lips due to their puffs of laughter. Snow collects on their coats and the wisps of loose wool on their mittens, Renjun’s hat lopsided and Mark’s pulled down until it hinders his vision.

When they reach Renjun’s house, Mark snatches the remote off the table before Renjun can even react and they huddle on the couch. The cushions comfort their legs, bruised from countless falls, and mugs of hot chocolate warm up their calloused palms. Renjun tells Mark to change the channel after a few minutes of squirming uncomfortably because of how scary the Grinch looks and Mark argues that the movie is a classic, but gives in when Renjun pushes his lower lip outwards.

“Let’s make this a weekly thing! Friday nights are movie nights!”

  
  
  


Years fly by as if someone’s skimming through pages in a scrapbook, hastily but with budding happiness. Memories are laminated and taped onto beige sheets, most—if not all—being shared between two individuals instead of one.

Suddenly, blurred characters become a lot more clearer and conversations seem a lot less scary for Renjun as he perfects his korean. Friendships form and connections spread; life is much more bearable. Tutoring sessions become a thing of the past, but movie nights linger. 

Renjun realizes that he’s spent a lot more of his childhood around Mark than he realizes when the latter graduates and enters middle school. The commute becomes longer so they stop walking together, since the older opts for a school bus; the workload becomes heftier so they stop hanging out, other than friday nights; the community becomes rowdier so they create new circles of friends, not having a single person that overlaps.

Sixth grade goes by very slowly for Renjun because most of his daily schedule consists of studying and practicing violin. A few months before the end of the school year, Renjun decides to learn ballet, needing more hobbies to fill up his free time. He doesn’t remember life being this… boring, to put it bluntly.

It’s no surprise that Renjun graduates top of his class, getting perfect marks in each of his classes and awards for attendance and musical talent. He reads the speech he’s required to make with emotions that only become real when he meets a familiar gaze in the crowd. His classmates jeer at him when he gets off the stage, tossing playful remarks about his voice cracks and offering their sleeves as tissues for Renjun’s tears.

“You did great,” comes the reassuring remark Renjun was sure he’d hear when he approaches Mark, who’s seated next to his parents.

Renjun spends the next hour taking pictures to permanently capture this memory. When they’re looking through them during his congratulatory dinner, Renjun notices that a lot of them are with Mark.

  


Questions arise during family dinners about Renjun’s middle school enrollment. His excellence in studies guarantee him a spot in a private school one hour away from where he resides, but Renjun finds no appeal in attending it. When his mother asks him for his reasoning, Renjun replies that the distance wasn’t ideal. Thankfully, his motion sickness stops her from doubtfully prying.

Excitement fills him rapidly when he texts Mark about his decision. He gets a smiley emoji in response, followed by a ‘Sweet!’ and for some reason, he feels the happiest he’s felt in a while. Stars litter across the sky that mirror the stickers in his room as he stares out his window, welcoming the night’s breeze that cuts through the humidity. He watches as the lights go out one by one in each house he can see down the street and then gives into his own drowsiness after the moon hides behind a passing cloud.

  


The lights are dimmed, opening credits to the movie for the night slowly becoming background noise, when Renjun’s face pales at the sheet of paper grasped gently between Mark’s lithe fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s no malice in the tone, just disappointment, which somehow hurts more. Renjun darts in a breath when Mark finally places his acceptance letter down and lifts his gaze, shamefully casting his own onto his star printed socks before they can meet. “You could’ve had a better education, Renjun. What stopped you?”

Renjun now realizes that his answer—being time with the older—seems a little childish and although he was sure the other would understand, something prevents him from answering. Mark misreads his hesitation for discomfort, it seems, and drops the topic, sitting on the couch and patting the seat beside him.

Later, he explains that he didn’t mean to scold Renjun, but he couldn’t help it because he cared just a little too much. The worry that Mark conveys through small creases on his otherwise unblemished forehead makes Renjun feel a lot more secure and Renjun thinks that maybe—just maybe—he can be selfish and rely on the brunette a little more.

  
  
  


Comfort, for Renjun, is associated with hoodies a size too big, iced coffee despite the dropping temperature, and warm hugs; all of which Mark offers. Though Renjun has never been the biggest fan of skin on skin contact, Mark changes that easily; the warmth that radiates off of his palm as it clasps over Renjun’s being all too convincing. As fall shies away in winter’s presence, the frequency of Renjun being doted on increases. 

Often times, Mark would compare a Renjun to a reptile. Not for the reason as most prepubescent teen males would—about being a fake ‘snake’—but because Renjun was cold to the touch. His parents didn’t find it too weird and assumed that Renjun simply lacked iron like one of his aunts, hence the piles of spinach he’d be fed. 

If Mark was the sun, with a smile that could brighten anyone’s day and warmth that comforted people, then Renjun was the moon, for he hid behind the illumination Mark provided whilst also feeding off of it quietly. Popularity was easy for Mark to gain and Renjun felt bad for burdening him with his presence, but Mark would never leave him behind. The array of stars that were fighting for Mark’s attention would always fade out until it was just the two of them.

Lunch breaks were spent in secluded corners of the buildings, even after the many requests aimed at Mark, because to Mark, him and Renjun were a ‘two-for-one deal’. Renjun hates the way he feels himself basking in the attention Mark spoils him with, hates the selfishness building up in him as he whisks Mark away from his friends, hates how Mark never complains and always chooses him before everyone else.

Things feel normal, like how they did in primary school, but they’re no longer children. Renjun knows that, yet he has a hard time letting go.

  


Christmas approaches quicker than the blink of an eye and Santa Claus becomes another memory this year, but hope in miracles still linger. They linger like the sickeningly sweet scent of gingerbread houses and candy canes. 

Mark usually spends Christmas with his family, going to Church for religious ceremonies, and invites Renjun for dinner in the evening. However, Christmas falls on a Friday this year and they decide to spend the night at Renjun’s instead.

The clock strikes 6 and Mark’s still not at his porch, ringing the doorbell twice whilst impatiently knocking at the same time as always. Had Mark missed a movie night prior with no alert whatsoever, Renjun probably would’ve watched the movie by himself, sulking under his blanket; but that had never happened before.

The hour hand reaches 10. Worry swirls in the pit of his stomach, causing nausea to build up, and in order to stop it before he hurls over, Renjun acts quickly. He stuffs his teddy bear under his sheets, fluffing the blanket to add lumps for a more realistic shape, and turns off the TV before opening the window and crawling out of it. 

Adrenaline from the fear of being caught mixes with the overwhelming concern Mark’s absence has induced and Renjun breaks into a cold sweat even before he sprints down the blocks to Mark’s house. Snow catches on his messy locks and hinders his sight by clogging up on his glasses’ lens, a few flakes making their way into his shoes and wetting his socks in a vexing manner. Renjun’s hyper aware of his surroundings, jolting at every shadow, since it’s his first time outside, alone, at this hour. He hears the sirens long before he finds the source, shuffling through a small crowd of people to get closer to the reason behind the commotion. 

He halts when he runs into the ‘do not cross’ line, but thinks ‘fuck it’ when he sees Mark seated on the curb in front of his house. He’s already broken many rules today, what’s a few more? With that thought, he ducks under the tape and dashes over to his friend, arms extending almost instinctively until his hands curl over broad shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Radio silence follows as he focuses on Mark, eyeing bruised lips so that he doesn’t miss a single word no matter how quietly mumbled. Mark doesn’t speak and Renjun refuses to listen to anyone else until wheels narrowly miss his backside. His turns his head around barely catches the brief scolding from an adult, attention fixated on the gut wrenching limb that lifelessly peeks out of the sheet placed atop the body on the stretcher.

“The father was knocked unconscious and the kid says it was a vampire. As if. Probably a burglary that accidentally turned into a homicide. A tragedy nonetheless.” 

Renjun tears his gaze off the officers talking near the ambulance and glances at Mark, who seems paler than ever, the heat he usually emits not present when Renjun reaches down to hold his hands with his own. 

“I saw it,” the whispers cuts through ruckus and Renjun feels his stomach turn at the way Mark’s dazed stare never leaves the direction the ambulance left in.

Snow melts on the tips of their noses as Renjun envelops Mark in his embrace and miracles, too, become a thing of the past.

  


Nostalgia hits in unrelenting waves the next week. Renjun finds himself wallowing in the loneliness that had held him captive in sixth grade, this time being unable to distract himself due to stress that piled each passing second Mark doesn’t contact him. Days of silence go by slowly and Renjun swears hours have never felt longer than they do now.

Mark appears at his doorstep on Friday, countenance wiped clean of any sorrow, which Renjun knows is a facade for his sake. Sharing negative thoughts had never been Mark’s forte, believing he would only burden or startle the younger with his demons.

Renjun knows better than to push, opening the door and letting Mark familiarize himself with the new decorations that have been put up. They spend a few minutes teasing the odd choice of embroidery on Renjun’s dining table cloth and then silence dawns upon them as they microwave a pack of popcorn.

“I’m going to join the Hunters’ Academy.”

Abandonment seems to dominate over any other fears Renjun has when those words leave Mark’s mouth, his hands trembling with confusion and worry. They were supposed to go to a secondary school reputed for performing arts _ together _ and now Mark was leaving that behind, leaving _ him _ behind. Mark’s taller, he has bigger hands, more muscle toning his torso, a program for hunters fits him effortlessly. Renjun’s petite, shorter than average, touch too gentle to be threatening, regardless of how hard he tried to work out. For him, joining the academy would be unrealistic, and yet—

“Then I’ll join too!”

The way Mark laughs should be painful for Renjun, but he finds himself smiling, having longed to hear the contagious sound. “Only 14 year olds are allowed to sign up.”

  
  
  
  


Time gets thicker during the gap between Mark and Renjun’s birthday; it’s never felt this far apart before. Renjun finds himself diligently crossing out dates on his calendar as they pass by, forcing himself to sleep early and wake up late, just so days would feel shorter. 

It doesn’t help. Everything goes by a lot slower now that he’s felt himself slip from the orbit he’s formed around his source of light, once again. Mere seconds feel as agonizing as hours and while he has expanded his social circle, nothing seems to take his mind off of his best friend.

The first time Mark cancels on a movie session, Renjun copes with boredom by building a snowman, only to give up halfway and flop onto the ground. The snow is too hard for him to bunch up, closer to ice than piles of snowflakes, and he finds himself hunched over the rest of the evening due to how stiff it had made his back after lying on it for over an hour. He blames the stars for being so mesmerizing and holds that grudge whilst inspecting the growing bump on his cranium with two fingers.

The second time Mark cancels on a movie session is the week right after he’d first done so and Renjun begins to worry that this is his way of growing up and out of childish ‘traditions’. The excuse he’s given is that practice will continue into late hours in the night, which Renjun believes, until he goes to the grocery store to pick up a fresh batch of strawberries for his mother and sees a familiar figure walking into an ice cream shop. He’s not good with confrontations, but Mark finds out that he knows because Renjun’s not good with secrets either; or at least with his own. Mark asks him if he ate dinner and Renjun accidentally slips up by saying it was terrible and he’d wished Mark would’ve gotten some icecream for him as well. Renjun accepts Mark’s apology, but something bitter still lingers and he’s unable to determine what, ultimately crediting the bland soup for it.

The week after, Mark appears at his doorstep for their movie session, but he’s not alone. He’s got company that Renjun’s never met before. Renjun learns that the boy he sees clinging off of Mark’s arm after practice, the same boy he’d seen with Mark last week, is named Donghyuck. His hair is a fiery red and his skin is sun-kissed, tongue lit with witty remarks, and voice far more heavenly than anyone’s Renjun has ever heard before. Most of the night, Mark and Donghyuck make inside jokes throughout the movie—which Donghyuck had chosen—and Renjun deems that movie sessions aren’t fun anymore. He’s seated to the right of Mark, who’s in the middle, yet for some reason, Renjun feels that Mark is farther away from him than the redhead, even if the limited space on the sofa makes that impossible. 

When the two of them are about to depart, Donghyuck gives him a once-over like he’s been doing all night, chuckle evading him on borderline disbelief and wordlessly waving as he steps out of the household.

“Hey Mark?” Renjun calls out as the other finishes tying up his laces. “Let’s end this movie night thing. I think we’re both getting too busy and old for this,” the laugh that leaves him is too breathy to seem real, but Mark doesn’t seem to catch onto that and only nods, offering him a smile and walking right off the porch. Renjun knows he’s the one that suggested it, but something inside of him seems to shatter as the duo in front of him leave his front yard, arm in arm.

  
  
  


When the twenty-third of March finally arrives, Renjun is far more than just prepared for it. The first of three alarms he’s set up goes off at six in the morning and he jerks himself awake, despite the grogginess he feels, turning off his shrieking phone that’s about to fall off his desk from its own vibrations. The first thing he begins to notice as his drowsiness fades is the massive pressure he feels on his teeth, the ache slowly becoming concerning. He races out of his bedroom and down the hallway to the first door to his right, almost slipping when his socks come in contact with the bathroom tiles. Maybe he’s had one too many sweets this month and those dreadful cavities his father scolds him about are beginning to form.

The room is too dark for him to examine anything properly and his lightbulb is on its last few breaths before death, flickering erratically for the first few seconds. When it finally illuminates the room, Renjun draws closer to the mirror and freezes at his reflection, all hazy specks in his sight suddenly vanishing as if he hadn’t just woken up mere minutes ago. The light gives in to weariness and the room is bathed in darkness once again. Renjun doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his mother swings the door open with panic, trying to figure out what’s wrong, only to hold him in her arms when she realizes.

It’s supposed to be the start of spring and yet, everything seems a lot more dreary than it had during the colder months. The rain outside does little to soothe him, though it naturally would, and the gloomy aura only heightens his nerves as Renjun and his parents sit at the dining table for dinner. He’d spent the whole day locked away in his room, chest heaving from the tears that wouldn’t stop leaving him, whilst his parents worriedly spoke from the other side of the door. They’d finally convinced him to come outside and eat something, but it was clear Renjun wasn’t seated before them for a meal.

“Renjun,” his father begins in their mother tongue when Renjun has finally stopped hiccuping. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” his mumble cuts off where his father was headed and he hears his mother get up from her seat to sit down in the one closest to him, clasping one of his hands with both of hers.

“No, it wasn’t. The chances were very slim,” his father continues with a sigh, wiping the edges of his mouth with his napkin. “Your mother and I are both cleared of those genes and so are our parents.”

The slow ticks of the clock sderide Renjun, who feels each breath getting harder to take as seconds fly by them. His fingers curl inwards, nails forming crescents into his palms, and his teeth worry his lower lip harsh enough to draw blood. He’s in a heavy sweater and the temperature is kind despite the weather, even more so inside the household, but Renjun still feels so cold. “Then how did this happen?”

“My grandmother,” there’s a brief pause and Renjun finally lifts his gaze, meeting his father’s unwaveringly. “She had the genes and I guess they were somehow passed to you, even though we took all the precautions we could.”

The pain he feels inside of his mouth has yet to vanish, only increasing in intensity until his head begins to ring as well. “I’m not hungry,” Renjun states, standing up from where he’s seated and removing his left hand from his mother’s grasp.

“Sweetheart,” he hears his mother call out for him as he makes his way towards the door, slipping into his worn out shoes, but he doesn’t spare her a glance.

  


The suffocating humidity only worsens the nausea he’s beginning to feel, dizziness pairing itself with the other problems he has to deal with. He’s not even five minutes into his walk when his body begs him to sit down on a bench, afraid he’d faint on the sidewalk if he didn’t.

A few cars pass by, tires skidding through puddles and sending droplets flying in his direction, but Renjun keeps his head in his hands, heels of his palms digging into his temples. A vanilla scented aroma fills his nostrils and his fangs protrude, threatening to prod a little too harshly against his lower lip. His headache becomes unbearable and he feels himself losing a grasp of reality, dark spots appearing in his vision.

When he comes back to his senses, his fringe tickles his forehead and he makes a grunt of disapproval, hand reaching up to brush it aside, and jolting away once it comes in contact with flesh that doesn’t belong to him. His eyes crack open and he pushes himself up, bumping his head against someone’s shoulder in the process. He’s fully expecting to see a creep looming over his figure, but sees a teenage boy smiling warmly at him instead.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Renjun’s eyes form suspicious slits at the male and he turns his head around, only now realizing that he was in an unfamiliar room with far too many gruesome artworks to feel safe in. “Who are you? And where am I? What happened?”

“Easy there, tiger. One question at a time,” comes the teasing reply to which Renjun rolls his eyes. “I’m Jaemin. Na Jaemin. You’re in my bedroom. I carried you here because you had your first bloodlust and almost got killed during it. A ‘thank you’ would be nice, but I’m guessing I won’t hear one.”

“Killed?” Renjun asks with furrowed eyebrows to which Jaemin snorts. “As expected… but yeah. You’re really petite so it would make sense for you to black out before your first bloodlust. I happened to be looking for my meal tonight too and saw you trying to pick your prey at the park which—I’m guessing you’re unaware of—is patrolled by a bunch of hunters.”

It must be the confusion he’s sure is painted across his face because Jaemin elaborates without Renjun having to ask him of it. “I was able to whisk you away and feed you before you did something reckless though,” almost boastfully, Jaemin shows him the little fang marks embedded on his wrist.

“Are you okay?” Renjun asks, immediately reaching up to curl his fingers around the boy’s forearm, observing the wound with curiosity and guilt. “Yeah, don’t worry your pretty little head. It’ll heal in the next hour. I’m just upset I didn’t get to feed on the girl I had my eyes on,” Jaemin responds, pulling his arm away from Renjun’s grasp gently. “You owe me, man,” he says half-heartedly, boyish grin tugged onto thin rosettes. “Will it hurt?” Renjun asks, glancing down at his own wrist until he hears Jaemin burst into a fit of giggles.

“Dude, stop, I’m joking. Your parents never taught you about these things?” Jaemin asks in surprise, prodding at Renjun’s forehead with his index finger, as if inspecting how someone could be so innocent whilst having such deadly intentions half an hour ago.

“No, this is kind of new to all of us,” Renjun admits and then scratches the nape of his neck. “It’s my fourteenth birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday! You’re a late bloomer, huh. Usually, fangs come in at age thirteen, like mine,” Jaemin mentions, proudly showing off his pearly whites, fangs long and intimidating compared to Renjun’s.

They spend the night delving into lore from books Jaemin steals from his father’s study room, laughing at certain passages and pictures like the kids they are, and for the first time in a while, Renjun doesn’t want the day to end.

  


Pages in the aforementioned scrapbook turn almost as quickly as they had done before, the interim filled with solo pictures now coming to an end, ebony tresses replacing brunette ones. Spring was a wonderful mixture of midnight adventures, rowdy laughter, and foreign experiences that bled into summer. Objects and ideas that Renjun used to associate with Mark became new memories shared with Jaemin and though the longing ache resided, lonesomeness was slowly forgotten.

However, on the eve of Mark’s birthday, Renjun receives an invitation to the celebration through text. Jaemin peers over his shoulder and proceeds to warn him against it, but is met with refusal, the desire to meet Mark again evidently strong within the smaller male. 

“What about your fangs, genius? Isn’t that the hunter boy,” Jaemin asks, as if he’s unsure despite Renjun having mentioned it an uncountable amount of times. “I’m guessing all his friends from the academy will be there and I’m not trying to lose my friend over something as reckless as this.”

Jaemin’s art pieces do little to support his argument and one canvas in particular catches Renjun’s eye, arm extending so that his forefinger can prod at it. The stupidity that blinds Renjun causes the horror in Jaemin’s eyes to go unnoticed.

  


**[ TW. ]**

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch, you know that right?” Jaemin asks the morning of the event after his parents have left the premises. They’re standing in Jaemin’s bathroom, the light-hearted jingle playing from the television setting a misleading mood. Renjun only grabs Jaemin’s wrist, bringing the limb towards his face with determination. 

A sigh eludes Jaemin and he eyes the blonde warily before placing the lethal edge of the razor perpendicular to Renjun’s left fang. Jaemin has more control of his strength than Renjun, hence why he’s the one sawing away at the predatory teeth. Shards of his inciscor collect on his lip and on Jaemin’s fingers while protesting squeaks are heard from the razor as it continues to chip away. The task takes about two minutes, only, but Renjun’s eyes are already welling up with tears from the immense pain. Jaemin wants to stop, but Renjun orders him to continue persistently, looking straight ahead and forcing himself to blink back tears and suppress the pained whimpers. The second fang takes a little bit longer and Jaemin hates the way Renjun has to repeatedly bash his lashes to and form tightly clenched fists.

A few minutes pass in which all that’s heard is Renjun’s sniffling and the annoying advertisements rolling on the TV. Jaemin sinks his fangs into his wrist, grimacing as they graze a bit deeper than intended due to the distractions. Warmth seeps onto his icy skin, tainting it and his plush duos. His free hand reaches out to curl around the nape of Renjun’s neck, bringing the boy forwards and pressing his wounded wrist to the quivering lips.

“Drink.”

**[ End of TW. ]**

  


Blurred faces are lit up by neon glow sticks that hang around bare necks, music blaring from the speakers while bodies bump against one another playfully to the rhythm. Renjun finds himself standing isolated in the kitchen, avoiding curious glances that are tossed at him by unrecognizable people that are on the hunt for more punch. 

Mark’s house feels a lot more spacious since the last time he’d been here, but Renjun can’t pinpoint why, too occupied by his drilling headache. The different scents from the crowd were hard to ignore and Renjun was beginning to feel overwhelmed, mouth salivating with the desire to taste. He’d taken his tablets before coming over to be safe, since Jaemin wasn’t here to protect him as per usual from losing his last shred of humanity, but the temptation was still hard to fight.

“Are you okay?”

Suddenly the piercing shrieks from the common room becomes background noise and all Renjun can focus on is the person beside him, reassuringly patting his back.

“I’ll cut the cake and send everyone home, yeah?” Mark continues before Renjun can even reply, reading the pain off of Renjun’s dilated irises. “The rest of the night can just be the two of us, like old times.” Protests are on the tip of Renjun’s tongue, not wanting to ruin Mark’s night by burdening him with his own problems, but they die quickly because Mark—as always—leaves him speechless.

“I missed you.”

  


The last of Mark’s friends to leave is Donghyuck, who insists on staying the night as well despite having a placement test for their academy rankings tomorrow. His eyes don’t leave Renjun’s the entire time he’s arguing with Mark, suspicion evident, but Renjun’s not sure of what. “It’s fine. You’ve done enough, Hyuck, you need to rest,” Mark says firmly and finally convinces the boy to slip into his shoes. “Fine, but you might wanna be careful,” Donghyuck mutters, raising a brow at Renjun before heading out the door and following after a boy that Mark had introduced to Renjun earlier as ‘Jeno’, hoping that they could be friends since they were the same age. However, they had both been bad at socializing, him and Jeno, and so that had led to nowhere.

“Let’s watch the Hunger Games trilogy! It’s been on my mind for a while,” Mark suggests, looking into his DVD cabinet as Renjun examines the mess that the other guests have left in his living room. He grimaces at the stains on the carpet and tries to help Mark’s father by picking up the cans and putting them in the recycling bin. They exchange a few words, mostly about how Renjun’s been and how his studies are holding up, but it feels just like old times.

“Yeah, it’s a mess down here. Let’s just go to my room! I’ll text your mom saying we’re having a sleepover later,” Mark comments, standing by the doorway and using his birthday as an excuse to not help in cleaning up, going so far as extending that right to his best friend. Renjun finds it adorable how Mark sticks his tongue out childishly when his father teasingly scolds him.

The clothes that Mark lends him are a size too big, shorts hanging low on his hips, but skin remaining covered thankfully by the t-shirt that swallows him whole. He’s cautious not to brush his skin against Mark’s if he can help it, not wanting him to be aware of his body temperature, which was a dead giveaway of what he really was. The summer heat suffocates him even with the air conditioner cooling the room, but he wraps himself in a blanket regardless, covering parts of him that are exposed. Mark eyes him oddly, but doesn’t do anything besides turn the fans of the aircon to hit Renjun directly. 

They watch the movie in relative silence, only speaking when they come up with lame commentary, just like they’re used to. Renjun can feel their ties slowly reach out and intertwine themselves with each other again, one by one, with each shift of the second hand on Mark’s clock. Halfway through the third movie, Renjun’s shoulder dips down from a sudden weight, Mark fast asleep when he turns his head to say something. Weariness has yet to catch up with him, sparks of joy having yet to ease in the pit of his stomach, and he finds himself watching the ending credits before he finally lets his eyelids shut and forces himself to retire for the night.

  


The heat of the summer rays wake Renjun up in the morning, his body still embraced by the warm quilt and his face being sputtered at by Mark’s malfunctioning air conditioner. Thankfully, it seems Mark’s father had brought in a fan and positioned it facing towards them so that they wouldn’t melt. The breeze from the now opened window kisses him softly and he takes a few seconds to come to his senses, being careful not to move too much since Mark was still passed out beside him. 

The familiar dull ache is what finally reels Renjun out of his sleepiness, energy spiking inside of him so suddenly, the hairs at the back of his neck arise. He pushes himself up and out of bed, running his fingers over his straightened ivories, only to freeze in horror when he feels the sharpened edges. Without a word, he rushes out the door, failing to notice a drowsy and concerned Mark eyeing him warily.

The race home knocks the wind out of his lungs and he finds Jaemin seated at the steps leading to his door, eyebrows raised inquisitively. They stare at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, the sun beating down on them without a care, and then Jaemin heaves a sigh, not having to ask how it went for him to know. “Well? Gonna invite me in or something? I’m getting baked alive out here.”

  


Renjun doesn’t leave out a single detail when explaining what had happened and Jaemin’s facial expression remains stoic throughout the whole retelling of the story, even with all the ups and downs. Not a single word pushes past his pursed corals, posture practically the same for the entire hour, but when Renjun announces that he wants to continue this—whatever ‘this’ was—annually, Jaemin cuts in.

“Donghyuck knows,” Jaemin argues, “Or he’s close to figuring it out. You’ll be dead the next time you try to pull this. Fangs there or not.” To this, of course, Renjun swiftly turns his wrist in the air, dismissing the death warning as if it weren’t sincere, when they both know it was.

“You do so much for him and he doesn’t even know,” Jaemin states in disbelief as Renjun gnaws into his own arm to cope with the stinging pain from his newly formed fangs. The ties he’s rebuilt today are already beginning to get fragile, but Renjun believes that he can mend them together like this, each time they grow too weak. He’s still not ready to let go, not yet.

  


Years fly by in blotches, yet still feel ever so slow. Seasons change unnoticeably, late summer being the only bookmarked pages in Renjun’s growing scrapbook. His pain tolerance increases each year, but so does Jaemin’s reluctance.

It’s Mark’s 19th birthday and Jaemin has decided he no longer wants to help Renjun hurt himself over a boy that won’t give him a second thought. He wouldn’t even pay Renjun visits during the younger’s birthday—which is ultimately a good thing despite the neglect, since Renjun would have to hurt himself twice a year if that hadn’t been the case—and invitations to his own parties seemed more obligatory than heartfelt. At least that’s what Jaemin saw, for Renjun couldn’t find any points to agree with.

Mark’s turning into an adult this year. Renjun can’t let Jaemin’s refusal to help him be an obstacle for such a major event and so he takes it upon himself to do what he usually does in preparation. The sawing isn’t done perfectly, but Renjun has no time to beg Jaemin to fix it, having postponed doing this until—quite literally—the last minute. 

When he arrives at the restaurant Mark’s booked a table in, he’s taken aback by how fancy it is. The washed out black jeans and low-cut tee clinging to his frame are underwhelming compared to the fashionable clothing his former best friend and the rest of the guests arrive in. Donghyuck glances him up and down once, the arrogant smirk causing something inside of Renjun to burn viciously. A nasty remark Jaemin had taught him last week threatens to slip off his tongue, but a hand on his shoulder snaps him back into focusing on the rest of his surroundings.

“You look like a lost lamb,” Mark snickers, tugging Renjun along past the glass doors that lead into the building. The comparison doesn’t ease Renjun’s nerves like it’s intended to. He knows he sticks out like a sore thumb and being told just that only made him feel worse. “I wasn’t aware it would be this sort of place,” follows Renjun’s response. The ceiling is far above them to accommodate the large chandeliers decorating the vicinity and everything from the curtains to the table cloth to the padding of the chairs are a pristine white. The pure extravagance leaves Renjun in awe.

The prices are also anything but kind to Renjun’s wallet, that’s been feeding off minimum wage for a little less than four months, so Renjun’s eyes gravitate to the slightly cheaper items listed in the appetizer menu. “I got you, don’t worry,” Mark mutters from his left with a chortle, reaching out to flip the pages of Renjun’s menu to the pasta section, pointing out the younger’s favorite meal.

Amid devouring his meal—and occasionally stealing from Renjun—Mark manages to start up a conversation between them. “It’s good to have you around, you know. I barely see you anymore. You never ask to come over or invite me anymore.” His tone is light, but there’s something Renjun senses and yet can’t identify that drips from his words. The chatter that surrounds them is loud, almost deafening, but somehow Mark catches Renjun’s barely audible reply. “I didn’t want to hinder your practicing. You were doing well and you managed to climb up the ranks quickly, but it was clearly getting harder so… I thought I’d stop myself from distracting you. Besides you have your new friends, like Donghyuck and Yukhei, you don’t really need me.” The silence that rests between them lasts for no more than a few seconds but it’s thick and taunting. “They aren’t you though. They could never be. None of them, for that matter,” Mark reassures nonchalantly, stabbing his fork into another piece of grilled chicken on Renjun’s plate. “Is that why you didn’t join the academy?” Renjun hums in response, agreeing though it isn’t the truth, and is thankful that Mark’s too occupied with the food to pry.

A while after they finish eating, Renjun pulls his phone out, getting ready to record the workers bringing out the cake as he’s used to, but they arrive with a bottle of what Renjun assumes is alcohol. The air gets a little heavy with awkwardness as Mark and his older friends, along with some risky younger ones, begin to celebrate his legality. A wall wedges in between Renjun and Mark, metaphorically and physically, since Donghyuck makes sure to push Renjun aside and celebrate with the birthday boy.

Renjun finds himself seated a few spots away from his original position, eyeing an unfinished steak before him with unease, whilst Jeno attempts to make small talk with him. “Seems like we’re the outcasts here, huh?” His gaze lifts from the food to Jeno’s crescent shaped eyes, a small smile appearing on his countenance that contradicts the dreary feeling lurking within him.

“You have no idea.”

  
  
  
  


Scenes flicker with hesitance as if reluctant to move any closer to the ending and the climb out of the rising action seems long and treacherous as the years go by, hectic but tainted with boredom of which the source hasn’t been located. Indecisive frames go from being doused in color to being a disappointing monochrome within seconds for no apparent reason.

The final deadline for college applications is approaching and Mark feels lost, only having applied to about four, all of which were his safety picks. His mentor had informed him about one in America that was known for its elite training and rigorous history course on folklore, but the chances of getting in were quite slim. Not only was it a well reputed university, it also had guaranteed career paths in different government bases globally. He’s revised his essay over a hundred times by now and his mentor had even complimented him on it, but something just didn’t seem right and ironically, the boy he’d used to tutor, Renjun, was better in writing things like this than him.

  


Renjun’s 19th birthday arrives two weeks after and Mark’s not surprised that he gets no invitation, as it happens yearly, but then again Renjun had always been someone who’d kept his celebrations small. Back when they were attached at the hip, Mark would wordlessly arrive at his house with a present, but it no longer seemed right to intrude Renjun’s privacy like that since they’d grown up and also drifted apart, although there had been no complaints prior.

However, this was an important date in Mark’s opinion and for some reason, he felt that he had somewhat of a right to be there to celebrate his ex-best friend turning legal. Nonetheless, the fear of rejection still haunts him and he decides to take a safer route, opting to dial Renjun’s mother instead of him. The conversation is brief, Renjun’s mother sounding surprised at Mark’s matured voice and him being caught off guard when she asks if they’ve talked about anything important recently. He’s about to respond that they haven’t, but vaguely remembers asking Renjun about why he hasn’t become a hunter during his own birthday party and affirms that they have. Shortly after, he receives the invitation he was looking for and asks her to keep it a secret from the boy, which then leads to hushed talks about how he’s been doing and what he’s planning to do with his life.

Sloppily, Mark signs his name in the birthday card he’d bought at the convenience store the other day and plucks one of the polaroids he has of him and Renjun when they were younger off the clothing line hanging above his desk. He slips it into the envelope alongside the card and seals the lid, grabbing the poorly wrapped present off his table and heading out the door after eyeing himself in his foggy mirror.

The sun sets as he walks towards Renjun’s house, the pathway familiar but foreign at the same time, and Mark notices that little things he didn’t know he had paid attention to have changed. The kite stuck in the tree across the street is no longer there, the house two down from Renjun’s has been repainted, there’s a new dent in the cement sidewalk, and a new car is parked in the Huang’s driveway.

Quietly, Mark makes his way to the little gate on the right side of their front yard, using his free hand to reach over the top and unhatch the lock. He’s sure to properly shut the gate before proceeding towards the back door, pulling out his phone to text Renjun’s mother in the meanwhile.

The first thing he’s met with when Renjun’s mother opens the door is genuine laughter he hasn’t heard for years, one he’s missed without realizing until now. Politely, he bows at both of the parents that have greeted him and then his legs begin to move on their own, propelling him towards the living room where the laughter grows louder. A grin appears on his mien without him realizing, up until he sees the scene before him. There’s a boy he’s never seen before looming over Renjun. Several things set alarms off in Mark’s head at that. Renjun wasn’t much of a social butterfly to begin with, on top of that his birthday parties were private, and far more concerning than both of those was the way the unidentified male was now baring his teeth, reaching out to sink them into Renjun’s arm.

His gift shatters as it hits the wooden floor, but Mark pays no mind to it, lunging forwards and ripping the dagger out of its sheath on his belt. God forbid he watched helplessly as another one of these beasts slaughtered someone important to him. He can practically taste victory on his lips as the sharp end of his weapon cuts through the air, arm swinging down with lethal intent, when a hand lands roughly on his chest and shoves him backwards with inhuman strength. He’s outnumbered, he realizes, but ignoring the setback, he pushes himself off the ground, reaching for the other dagger he’s got tucked away in his belt. Going down without a fight would be cowardly and a waste of the last few years of his life.

When he lifts his head again, the scarlet eyes he’s met with don’t belong to an unfamiliar face and Mark feels the temperature in the room suddenly drop, goosebumps rising as the grip on his knives begin to loosen. The strings that fate is sickeningly tugging at during this moment causes his stomach to lurch, an imaginary fist formed around his neck that prevents any words from leaving, regardless of the disbelief. Renjun stands between him and the vampire he’d attacked, arm extended and palm guiltily facing Mark though quivering, much like Renjun’s lower lip as tears surround those piercingly ruby irises.

“Mark,” the voice sounds as broken as Mark feels and Mark scurries backwards, shaking his head in denial. “No,” he barely manages to say before getting onto his feet, stepping over his broken gift, and breaking into a run out the front door.

  


The photos he’d stared at earlier mock him when he finally reaches his bedroom, cheeks rosy from the biting wind, and sight hazy with unshed tears. Trembling fingers finally find some sort of strength, reaching out to rip the polaroids off the clothing line before impatience catches up with him and he tears away at everything in sight that reminds him of the betrayal. The wound cuts deep into him and all the blind trust he’s put into Renjun feels almost foolish. He remembers each of the lingering gazes Donghyuck had given the boy and feels idiotic for scolding him, mistaking suspicion for unjustified distate.

They’d been friends for a majority of their lives and regardless of them no longer being as close as they’d used to be, Mark feels like he deserved to at least know something this big. He’d led Mark on for years, wrapped him around his finger and Mark hadn’t the slightest clue, oblivious to how he was being made a fool of.

Anger brews with disappointment within him, but the hatred he searches for to fuel the actions he’s trained to carry out is nowhere to be found. He remembers the chill that ran through him when he’d seen those red pupils staring at him, but also remembers the sadness that struck within him seeing droplets hang off curled lashes. Mark’s supposed to be heading back to the household to erase the town of two teen vampires, the race he’d sworn to help vanquish, but he can’t find it in him to do so. His feet remain glued to his carpet floor, the tears he wouldn’t let fall earlier now leaving stains on the hills of his face, collecting along his jawline before dripping onto his shirt, arms too weary to wipe them away. They burn with humiliation and prompt Mark’s retreat under his inviting blanket, yearning for something to calm himself down.

  


The tires of the bus squeak to a halt in front of the stop that Mark barely manages to reach on time, Donghyuck already making his way onto the vehicle with a snicker. Normally, he’d humor the younger with a remark only to be one-upped, but he wasn’t in the mood today. In fact, he hasn’t been in a while, but Donghyuck had gone past the phase of concern, now only determined to get back the Mark he’d first met. The thoughts about two weeks ago still rest heavily on Mark’s shoulders because he refuses to share the burden with anyone else, not trusting people to keep their mouth sealed about something like this, especially when most of his friends were fellow hunters. He feels pathetic, protecting a vampire and making them seem vulnerable when they could easily murder half of the town in the blink of an eye, but it was Renjun and he couldn’t help it. The innocence he’d associated with the boy had diminished since the occasion, but hadn’t completely vanished either, not when the last expression he’d seen on the male’s face was one that probably mirrored his own: sadness combined with fear and confusion.

His ranking has dropped significantly over the time span and now, as he faces his junior who’s pinned him onto the mat, he knows it’ll plummet even further. Before he can go check the screen, however, he’s distracted by a hoarse shout of his name. His mentor looks both worried and displeased, though the former being more prominent. “What’s gotten into you?” There’s no harsh bite to the question but Mark finds himself bowing in shame, guilt washing over him in waves. “I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.” To this, he hears a disappointed sigh and an order to get up and face his superior, which he obeys wordlessly. “I am requiring you to take a hiatus from practicing for this month. You may return the final week to watch this year’s ending tournament, but I am commanding you to take care of yourself. Do I make myself heard?” The words drill into him almost horrifically, but Mark forces the little pride that’s left in him to reluctantly bow his head in understanding. When his mentor finally dismisses him, he walks straight towards the bleachers and reaches for his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder and walking out of the building without glancing back and waiting for Donghyuck like he normally does.

  


Two days go by lethargically before Mark realizes that loitering at home only causes him to delve deeper into his dreadful thoughts. They ridicule him until he’s left cursing to himself and the most recent picture of Renjun that he has saved on his phone. So, on the third evening of wallowing in self-hatred, he calls Yukhei and asks for his company at a bar. The impressed shock that he can practically hear engulf the latter’s enthusiastic responses is more than enough to make him second guess his decisions, but Mark figures experiencing new things might replace memories he so badly wants to forget. 

The night turns hellish very quickly, which Mark should’ve known would’ve happened if he invited Yukhei—and Yukhei only—to a bar. Mark’s not big on drinks, only indulging in them occasionally when celebrations called for it, but Yukhei—who had begun far before he was allowed to—knew just the right ones to order for both of them to be nearly out of it before an hour passed. They sit hunched over in their stools, giggling over stupid things like haircuts of other people in the bar and jokes that don’t make sense. “I miss Donghyuck, let’s call him,” Yukhei whines, words slurred slightly, and Mark obliges, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Donghyuck, though no angel himself, scolds the both of them for the half hour he manages to keep them on the line, somehow wiggling the name of the place out of them so that he and Kun can make their way over at midnight to pick up the ‘rotting oafs’.

Knowing better than to take the mess Mark’s made of himself to his own home, Donghyuck allows the boy to crash at his place, being quiet enough not to disturb the rest of the household by slapping a palm over Mark’s mouth to stop the incoherent blabbering. When they make it to Donghyuck’s room, Mark spreads his limbs across the bed as if claiming his territory and Donghyuck only rolls his eyes, setting up his sleeping bag from summer camp on the floor. 

“Your hair’s so red,” Mark mumbles, lazily pointing at Donghyuck’s face, rather than his hair and Donghyuck entertains him with a, “No shit, Sherlock.” What follows is something Donghyuck has expected for a long time, “Like Renjun’s… his eyes.” From the first day Donghyuck had met Renjun—when the petite boy swung open his door eagerly only to lose the enthusiasm at Donghyuck’s presence lingering alongside Mark’s—he knew there was something different about the boy but lacked the knowledge to pinpoint exactly what it had been. As time passed, his suspicions found clarity due to knowledge from the academy, but he doubted Mark would willingly hang out with a creature of the night. Despite learning how oblivious Mark could be, Donghyuck had failed to find solid proof thus far to convince Mark or anyone else otherwise, but now he had received the confirmation he needed. 

“I’ll kill him,” Donghyuck swears as he slips into the comfort of his sleeping bag, met with soft mumbles from his friend who had taken over his bed. “Tomorrow, you won’t have to worry anymore.” The promise hangs heavily between them and it stays that way through the night, after they’ve both succumbed to tiredness.

  


The morning song that comes in melodic chirps startles Mark awake and he doesn’t have to check his texts to remember why he feels so sluggish, his ringing headache being more than enough of a sign. Sunshine seeps in through the windows and pierces through the lace curtains, casting peculiar shadows onto Mark’s arm that distract him momentarily. 

Donghyuck has left without notice, sparing Mark a bottle of herbal tea on his bedside table, which Mark can’t complain about since it was already close to noon. He’s sure Donghyuck’s parents have left for work as well, so he’s left to deal with this painstaking hangover by himself. The nausea that begins to fill his senses soon force him out of bed and into the bathroom.

The day goes by slowly, packed with grunts and whines in complaint to how he feels. Ibuprofen and tea both end up being great solutions to his self-induced suffering and Donghyuck’s PS4 serving as a neat distraction from his killjoy boredom. Around an hour before Donghyuck is due to come back from practice, Mark texts him with the intention of persuading him to buy food on the way home. The messages he sent last night, prior to calling Donghyuck, make him grimace. They’re barely coherent and yet, somehow, Mark understands enough of his own gibberish to cringe.

Donghyuck refuses in less than a second and Mark isn’t really surprised by that, but prods deeper, asking why to seem a lot needier than usual, which he was. ‘Busy.’ Donghyuck’s response is curt and though Mark sends him grilling inquiries about what could be more important than his best friend’s pain, he doesn’t respond after that. Mark assumes that he’s occupied with a match, but doesn’t quite expect a response after that either, since Donghyuck would probably just explain himself verbally when he came home. Instead, Mark decided to text his father, informing him that he’ll be out late again.

It’s only seven, but the sun is already so close to the horizon and Mark ponders about why Donghyuck would be out so late by himself, even if it was far from uncharacteristic. Line of sight shifting from the window to the hamper in which his alcohol reeking clothes lay, Mark tries his best to recall if Donghyuck had mentioned anything about it last night. Ultimately, he only sees brief flashbacks, most of which take place in the bar and consist of Yukhei pulling a stupid stunt which doesn’t surprise him. An exasperated sigh eludes him as he falls back onto the soft mattress, draping his arm over his eyelids and watching as the odd patterns start to infiltrate his veil of darkness.

The memory hits him a few seconds later, when he’s almost forgotten about the task at hand. He can’t remember it word for word, since he’d been on the brink of falling asleep when it was said, but Mark can decipher what Donghyuck had been talking about. The adrenaline that pumps through him as he waits for Renjun’s reply to his frantic texts peaks when learns that Renjun is outside, probably by himself.

Even the image alone of Donghyuck being able to fulfill his promise is too much for Mark to handle, dialing the male’s number desperately, but being repeatedly sent to voicemail. He only stops trying after he can no longer focus on his phone, sprinting down the blocks between Donghyuck’s house and the park that Renjun had mentioned he was at. When he finally reaches the crosswalk leading to the park, the traffic light taunts him by flickering out of his favor and fate commences with its vexing tug of innocent strings. The breeze that runs down the block sends shivers down Mark’s spine, as the scene unfolds before him. He can see his best friend approaching the junction at record speed and watches as the unsuspecting boy he’s making eye contact with near the same corner of the sidewalk. His throat dries and he’s unable to shout. A truck obstructs his field of vision, slowly passing by the two of them as if purposely dragging out its turning to drive Mark into insanity. 

**[ TW. ]**

When he can finally crane his neck for a view, though hesitantly for he feared what he would see, a different type of distaste poisons his insides. The vampire he’d been unable to identify before is standing between his close friends, one arm tugging the smallest male behind him and the other arm putting a stop to the hunter’s dagger. The blood seeps off the knife and Donghyuck looks taken aback by his sudden appearance as much as Mark is. The light finally turns green and he joins in on the scene, eyeing as Donghyuck wedges the dagger out of the male’s arm, the open gash not even eliciting a groan from the other nor causing him to flinch the slightest. Liquid a shade darker than mahogany leaves from the gaping flesh, running down the defensively raised forearm and dropping from his elbow onto the cement below. Mark watches with both horror and awe as the open slit begins to slowly stitch itself back together, tissue regenerating without hindrance and skin crawling to reconnect over the mutilation. Silence falls between all of them as the boy cleans up the remaining mess on his arm, dragging his tongue along the trail of blood whilst eyeing them for an explanation. The look in his eyes is predatory and Mark’s not sure why he hasn’t got both him and Donghyuck pinned to the ground at this point, but he can figure out why with a simple glance at Renjun who’s shaken, but more fixated on his presence than the event at hand.

**[ End of TW. ]**

“Take him away from here, please,” Mark asks, being unable to meet eyes with the stranger. He feels shamefully helpless requesting the aid of a vampire. The words are said bitterly and Mark’s unsure of what the feeling kneading at his stomach is, only being able to figure out that he would much rather protect Renjun himself, but it was clear that he was unable to do that. Donghyuck mutters nonsensical complaints, but Mark wordlessly drags him in the other direction.

  


“They killed your mother,” Donghyuck exclaims whilst they argue on Mark’s front porch, disbelief lathered all over his face. “No, that wasn’t them specifically,” Mark defends, unsure why anger boils within him at each accusation Donghyuck presses. “So what? They’re all the same! Renjun’s going to turn on you too, you know that right? That’s what they’re known for. They lure people in and then feast off of them like it’s a sick game,” Donghyuck shouts, uncaring of whether the neighbors are eavesdropping or not at this point. At the mention of the boy’s name, Mark immediately raises his hands to shove Donghyuck backwards, “He’s not like that!”

The push is nowhere near rough, but they’re both surprised by Mark’s actions. Getting angry was rare for him, but getting ‘violent’ when unnecessary was unimaginable. “Is there something else you want to say?” Donghyuck asks quietly. Concern isn’t laced into his question, but neither is irritation; and it sounds rhetorical, more than anything. Mark, gaze never leaving the laces of his shoes, manages a weak reply, “He’s my friend.” Donghyuck leaves after that, comically flattening his shirt down as if they’d gotten into a scuffle. “I don’t think it’s just that.”

  


It’s pathetic how the movie reels back to different scenes, sepia tinted, mocking him with the purity of their past.

Mark remembers the warmth that used to ooze out of Renjun when the younger curled his smaller hands around his arm, eyes squeezed shut and face buried into his shoulder when the eerie music in a horror movie played. He longs for the defensive lies that would emit from the brunette as he teasingly commented on the noises. The sense of pride that would fill him when Renjun requested he spend the night after, too scared to sleep alone, no longer there.

He remembers the tiny dimples that appeared each time Renjun smiled his way or threw his head back with laughter. The same ones that he could see even when the boy was simply eating, complimenting his features nicely and further adding to his innocent image. 

Renjun’s thirteenth birthday had been Moomin themed and Mark still remembers how he pranced around in the Moomin printed shirt that he’d gotten him with money from his piggy bank. They’d spent the night outside stargazing, Renjun’s birthday request having been to experience breaking his curfew, and only hit about fifteen minutes after his scheduled bedtime before Renjun had grown sleepy and asked Mark to head inside first, wanting to be the last one to enter the house. He remembers endearingly watching from the window as Renjun fought his drowsiness to loiter outside a minute longer before barging towards his bedroom with drowsy whines.

Nostalgia overwhelms Mark and he’s unable to climb out of his well of memories, helplessly spiraling lower. He’s able to recognize jealousy when images of the other vampire he’d encountered now infiltrate his train of thoughts, hating how close they seemed with one another. The bitter feeling of replacement is too harrowing for him to ignore. Days pass by with him remained locked away in his room, only ever leaving to feed himself and take care of his hygiene, even avoiding social media without noticing it.

Donghyuck appears at his doorstep the day after he informs his father of his acceptance to the school abroad with cake and his entire friend group from the academy. They’re all cheerful, congratulating him with shouts and pats on the back, but Mark only stares at Donghyuck who shrugs. Mark knows his intentions are kind, but he can’t find himself to enjoy the scenery, having to use the last ounce of energy he has to fake smiles for his concerned guests. 

Shortly after, he asks his father to get everyone to leave, pleading with his eyes, and lounges in relief when he’s left alone once again. Dinner is silent, as it has been for a while, and his father doesn’t pry. “I’m lost,” he admits, but leaves the room before elaborating, unable to continue after seeing the worry that flashes in his father’s eyes, expression strikingly similar to one his late mother would’ve given him.

  


The wind howls late at night, battling away the afternoon’s heat that lasts, and Mark remains idle on the swing where he first met the source of his problems. The moon lies secretly behind the clouds and the beam of the street light is unrelenting on his figure, casting an elongated shadow by his feet. He rests his body against one of the chains, lids heavy and threatening to betray him by falling shut for the night then and there. Another gust blows past him and he pauses briefly to enjoy it, but his relaxation is cut short.

Air gets forced out of his lungs as he’s pushed off the swing and wrestled onto the ground in a manner of seconds, one hand wrapped tightly around his wrists and the other grabbing the column of his neck. His leg rises, knee pressed against his attacker’s abdomen, and his hands form into fists, ready to fight back now that he’s fully regained his senses. However, the eyes boring into him are recognizable and he feels himself getting pliant, unable to find the strength in him to break free.

Renjun’s fangs are visible and Mark should be scared—should be breathlessly frightened—but he isn’t because he knows. He knows that Renjun, even in whatever state he is now, would never be able to hurt him.

He’s proven right when the vampire suddenly jolts back to reality, terror sparking in his dilated pupils, whilst he scrambles off of Mark. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I forgot to—my pills for bloodlust—they’re at Jaemin’s,” the rambling is unintelligible, but Mark’s educated enough on these things to understand. As he’d expected, Renjun would never hurt anyone if he could help it and if he’d been diligent with those tablets, then he probably had no human blood on his hands. He sits up as well, reaching out to brush away Renjun’s bangs from covering his irises, that were back to hazel but gleamed ruby every now and then. “It’s okay,” he mumbles reassuringly and Renjun raises his palms to cover his own face in despair, “No! No it’s not! I could’ve hurt you and it’s my own stupid fault. Jaemin’s been out of town for a month and I can't pick up a new prescription yet. This is the second time I’ve nearly hurt someone this week, I just—it’s so hard to control and this—this time it was someone I care about! You have to leave—you have to leave right now because I can’t—Jaemin isn’t here—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Reaching out, Mark encircles his lithe fingers around Renjun’s small wrist, tugging the trembling male closer. He acknowledges the stupidity in his actions, but is unable to stop them, turning his head to the side to give the younger full access to his neck. A few seconds go by, Renjun’s tears being the only thing he can feel as they fall onto his thigh, but then pain courses through his veins when Renjun finally submits to his desires. It’s almost unbearable, but Mark copes with it, knowing it would ease and satisfy the younger. He lulls the vampire, soothing comments of trust evading him, and occupies himself by staring at the blanket of stars across the night sky.

The white stardust turn into green glow-in-the-dark stickers that loiter a paler canvas when Mark wakes up the next morning. There’s an itch on his neck that bothers him, but when he reaches to scratch at it, his fingers meet plastic and he discerns that a band-aid has been plastered over his new wound. Renjun’s room is different from what he remembers, other than the stars on his ceiling, his walls are now beige and decorated with artwork and there’s carpet underneath Mark’s feet when he gets out of bed. The university acceptance letter taped onto his closet door doesn’t go unnoticed and neither do the framed photos from when the two of them were younger. He stops snooping around when he hears the notifying shriek of the toaster and saunters out of the bedroom to inspect the kitchen.

Renjun’s donning the outfit he’d worn last night and Mark assumes he’d passed out as soon as he’d lugged them both here. His hair is a mess and his glasses are fogged up from the steam of his cup of tea and Mark can’t help but find it lovable, nonetheless. “What’re you staring at,” Renjun scoffs when he finally notices Mark’s presence to which Mark replies, “Just enjoying the view.” It’s far from a lie, but has the same impish intent.

Breakfast is two toasted slices of bread with butter spread on top and though Mark’s appetite is far from appeased, he can’t find it in himself to complain. Besides, Renjun offers him half of his second toast, unable to finish it.

“Why?” It’s one word but it tears away the jocular atmosphere. Renjun’s peering at the area on Mark’s body that he’d sunk his fangs into, upon the latter’s approval. There’s only one answer Mark can come up with and though his confidence wavers, he manages to announce it. “I love you and I can't run away from that.”

Vulnerability makes itself known, but it radiates from Renjun instead of Mark, who seems to cower from his own shadow on the table. “That’s funny,” Renjun mumbles in response and Mark’s about to apologize for the abrupt confession but he continues, “I’ve loved you for a long time, but this—whatever we want this to be—it isn’t going to work.”

They’re both aware of that. At one point, Renjun would stop aging and when that happens, he’d have to watch Mark grow old and eventually die without being able to prevent it. They drop the conversation at that and Mark excuses himself, welcoming the sickening heat as he walks out the door, hoping the burn will divert his attention from the ache his heartstrings are causing.

  


Departure for America becomes dreadful more than exciting and Mark stares at the calendar on his phone, hoping for days to appear between today and tomorrow. The flight is scheduled at the crack of dawn and Mark fails to rest on airplanes, always a tad bit too nervous, so he should be getting his much needed rest by now, but Renjun’s status is still ‘Active’ on Instagram and Matk feels a bit stupid, sitting in his dimlit bedroom, waiting for a message that’ll never arive. He has texted the boy three times in the past two weeks but only gotten responses that end the conversation rather than continue them. Ultimately, he gives up on initiating the conversation and waits for the younger to reach out to him, but it doesn’t happen. Once again, Mark finds himself left alone with his own thoughts, unsure how to handle them. It’s nearly midnight, but the moon calls out to him from the window and Mark’s out the door in less than five minutes, responding to its forlorn crying. Contrasting day, night brings a subtle zephyr down the block, leaves humming in content upon the caresses. There’s little to visit this late at night, by himself, Mark realizes as he takes the route towards the park he’s been visiting more frequently than usual.

The closure he’s been adamantly hunting for suddenly appears before him as the wind chimes and his eyes fixate on a familiar silhouette perched on the creaky swing he usually occupies.

Long strides are taken hastily and his own words startle him as much as the boy he grabs with resolute determination, “Turn me.”

Renjun’s response—which arrives after a moment of gawking—is a firm refusal, arms folded over his chest like they usually are when he’s strictly against something. The moon basks them in its spotlight whilst Mark’s bruising grip on Renjun’s biceps remain unrelenting as they stare at one another. “Don’t be stupid,” Renjun scolds dissaprovingly, “Things don’t always go the way you want, Mark! This isn’t going to work, we both know this. You’ve spent half of your life trying to be a hunter and I’ve spent the same amount being what you’re supposed to hunt. Think something through for once!”

“I have thought it through!” Mark argues with just as much frustration, tightening his grip so much so that it would have caused the other to flinch had his pain tolerance not spiked over the years. “Oh please, I can guarantee you spent two seconds thinking about it, as always, and you’re going to regret it, as always. Can’t you just let this go? You’ll grow out of whatever you feel and find someone else, stop acting like the world is ending.” Renjun’s portrayal of strength is weak, betrayed by his voice cracking and tears collecting at the corners of his eyes.

“Really? I’ve spent most of my life pining after you without even realizing it and even if I wasn’t always head over heels for you like I am now—like I have been for a long while—I could never forget nor replace you.” Renjun’s arms fall from being crossed over his chest and Mark sighs in relief, hoping that it’ll be easier to convince him now. “I know you won’t be able to forget me either. I know I’ve left and will continue to leave a feeling of longing that you can’t escape. I know because I feel that way about you,” Mark adds on, ignoring the hesitant sigh he hears in return. “Please, Renjun.”

“What if you regret this down the years? What if… what if you regret it and hate me for turning you?” Renjun asks, burrowing his teeth into his lower lip in a way that makes Mark frown, worried that his fangs will pierce the delicate flesh. 

“I could never hate you.”

The clouds shift once again, working together to veil the moon, and the both of wait in the darkness, hazy vermillion irises piercing through the shadows as Renjun rises from where he’s seated. He dawdles, clearly unsure of his own actions, and Mark reaches out to encompass Renjun’s hips with his palms, offering a comforting squeeze. The familiar feeling of throbbing pain numbs Mark’s senses, but he keeps quiet and submits to the gloom penetrating his vision.

  
  
  


Christmas regains its joyous fervor the year following Mark’s first departure for college. Renjun’s parents decide to host the celebration for the first time as a ‘Welcome Home’ party and greet him with embarrassingly big banners when he gets off his flight. Renjun watches from afar, amused as Mark struggles in their embraces, but treats him to a brief kiss when they get inside the car. 

The living room harbors a Christmas Tree that Mark’s never seen before and when he asks about it, Jaemin snickers. “Thank me later.” Underneath the festive tree are piles of wrapped presents, labeled with cursive handwriting, and boxes of candy canes that Mark devours without a second thought. Renjun’s surprised Mark still has such a prominent sweet tooth after being turned, but then again, he’s always been full of surprises. Mark’s father arrives a bit later, celebratory cake in his hands as he walks through the entrance, along with an ugly sweater from Mark’s grandma that he forces the vampire to wear. “It’s for Nana, just deal with it.”

Donghyuck barges in seemingly uninvited, but Mark doesn’t fail to notice how close he’s gotten to Jaemin in the short span of months and he gives Renjun an inquisitive look, earning a playful shrug in return. They spend the day watching movies and listening to parodies of carols, only opening their presents after supper.

When they exchange gifts, the first thing both of them notice is how much bigger and heavier Renjun’s gift for Mark is in comparison. Renjun pokes fun at it and Mark asks him to ‘shut up and open the present’. Underneath the shimmering green wrapper is an encased CD with a smiley face drawn on top. “It’s not much, but… I took a filmography class this semester and made this during it. It’s a small compilation of videos that I have of us, kind of like our timeline.”

With newfound eagerness, Renjun pressures him to quickly unwrap his gift as well, despite Mark preferring to be gentle with the wrappers. The convenience store’s price tag is still hanging off the book and Mark flicks it playfully, watching as Renjun’s face colors in embarrassment. He skims through the pages briefly, wanting to get an idea of what he was going to delve intently into afterwards, and realizes that the gift is much similar to his own. It’s a scrapbook filled with laminated pictures that are placed in chronological order.

A fit of giggles erupt from them as they place their gifts aside, agreeing to inspect them thoroughly later, too enamored with one another to be distracted at the moment. Arms find their way around Renjun’s waist, careful as those that loop loosely around Mark’s neck, and they sit down on the sofa, paying no mind to the retching noises Donghyuck makes from in front of them. “Let’s get out of here,” Mark mumbles against Renjun’s lips a few minutes later, fingers reaching underneath the hem of Renjun’s sweater. “This is my house, idiot,” Renjun responds to that, pulling away briefly to prod at Mark’s cheek with a forefinger. “Okay? Then let’s go to mine. They won’t miss us.” Renjun sighs at his boyfriend’s stubborn demeanor, planning on denying him of his request, only to melt upon catching the tiny pout pursed onto the male’s rosy lips.

Snowflakes kiss their lashes as they race each other down the block, pelting one another with snowballs, and once they reach the front yard of Mark’s home, they fall onto the covered ground to leave snow angels. Christmas lights illuminate their features as they lay there, Renjun eventually rolling on top of Mark to steal a kiss off of the latter’s lips. One becomes two, two becomes three, until eventually they’re hastily stumbling into the unoccupied abode, wool sweaters carelessly discarded and followed by the rest of their clothing.

And they both think—as the night passes whilst they remain undisturbed in Mark’s old bedroom—that they’ll have all the time in the world to make up for the years they lost.

**Author's Note:**

> omg i was supposed to finish this before halloween ended in korea but i procrastinated and didn't wanna rush the end so... i'm going with my time... in America HAHA
> 
> but anyways i hope u guys enjoyed it!! i know markren isn't a big ship and like we're DEPRIVED out here (even if i am a shameless norenmin writer most of the time) so i commited myself to this story... it was also a request!
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i liked writing it! it got a little long but i assumed it would be such because the outline alone was 8 pages...
> 
> COMMENTS ?! CONCERNS ?! make them known! 
> 
> love u guys, til next time hehe
> 
> [ twt. ](https://twitter.com/sookais_)  

> 
> ++ i'm probably gonna write a brief yangren one soon too! i love renjun what can i say T_T


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